


one, two, three, eggplant!

by xiaojidiing



Category: NINE PERCENT (Band), 偶像练习生 | Idol Producer (TV)
Genre: First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, chaoze basically screams nonstop in this sorry again, yanjun gets long monikers in place of his actual name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 14:25:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15196718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xiaojidiing/pseuds/xiaojidiing
Summary: Zhangjing finds himself on the kiss cam at a baseball game.





	one, two, three, eggplant!

**Author's Note:**

> first of all i'd like to say the eggplant thing is not a dirty joke it's what u say in chinese instead of saying cheese when u take a pic
> 
> secondly uh. i'm still extremely on the fence about rpf and idol shipping in general but i havent written in ages and i thought this was a cute idea so. fight me ig
> 
> thirdly i wrote this all at once and this isn't edited at all and i also haven't written fic in forever im sorry if its bad
> 
> fourth, some context! it isn't rly important to the story but i thought it might be nice for you to know what i was thinking when i wrote this. zhangjing and his group are college students who came from china to the us when they were in middle/high school, and yanjun is also a college student, but he's an american-born chinese! (像我一样嘻嘻）
> 
> fifth, disclaimer ive only been to one baseball game in my life
> 
> thank you im sorry in advance

 

It is 1 pm on the Saturday afternoon right before finals, and You Zhangjing is at a baseball game.

He’s gone to one baseball game in his life, and that’s today’s. Even when he was back in Malaysia or China, where the food they sold was actually well seasoned and didn’t taste like it’d been sitting out in the sun for hours, he’d never gone to any. Maybe it’s because sports isn’t really his thing, or because he’s never liked to watch something when he could be out there doing it himself, but the fact remains that Zhangjing has never really had any interest in watching baseball.

“Come on, come on,” Lin Chaoze screams in his ear over the roars of the crowd, popcorn flying out of the bucket he’s holding and into Zhangjing’s face in his haste to snag Zhangjing’s wrist and drag him up to a row of seats somewhere in the middle of the stadium. “It’s about to start!”

Supposedly, they’re here to celebrate Bei Honglin’s birthday. That was the key point Lu Dinghao and Chaoze had used to guilt trip him into coming. But Zhangjing knows that ever since they had come to the US they’d all turned into baseball junkies and refused to admit it.

The birthday boy himself is already sitting in a seat in the general area of Chaoze’s wild gesturing. He’s beaming, the paper crown Dinghao had made him sat firmly on his head and a can of some soda wrapped in his hands. Dinghao is next to him, ugly sunglasses perched lopsidedly on the top of his head. The second he spots them, he stands up, waving his hands and yelling something unintelligible towards them.

Zhangjing can’t even begin to try and decipher what he’s saying. Somehow Chaoze can, though, and yells something equally unintelligible back. Zhangjing tries to plug his ears with his hands to block out the mass amount of sound coming at him from all sides, but Chaoze’s vice-like grip around his wrist almost tightens, like he’s preempting Zhangjing’s escape.

Chaoze doesn’t have to worry. As much as he’d like to, Zhangjing won’t leave, mainly because it’s Honglin’s birthday but also because they’re going out to hotpot after this and if Zhangjing has to suffer, he’d at least like to make it worth his while.

“You guys are late,” Dinghao yells at them when they finally make it up to their row, like they’re not two feet away from him.

“Sorry,” says Chaoze. “We got held up by someone,” and here he pauses briefly to swivel his head around and fix Zhangjing with a glare, “who kept worrying about his 93.2 in Differential Calculus.”

Zhangjing opens his mouth to protest, but Dinghao stops him with a raised hand. “We got it,” he says. “We don’t need to hear anymore about how ‘a 93 is incredibly unsafe’ and ‘you guys don’t know how the tests are, one quiz can make or break your grade’.”

Zhangjing crosses his arms, affronted. “You’re just bitter because you have a C in O-Chem.”

“Just sit down,” says Dinghao. He leans across Honglin to stuff a hotdog in Zhangjing’s mouth. “Eat this and shut up.”

Zhangjing plops down into the seat, still not appeased but whatever, he’s hungry. The guy sitting next to him on his right shoots him an amused look, as if he’d listened in on their entire conversation. Which he probably had. Zhangjing glares back at him, ripping a bite out of the hotdog before looking away. He could care less if random boys judge him for being petty, even if the random boy in question happens to be moderately good-looking.

At first he’d been satisfied with sitting on the outside of their group, letting the Three Idiots fanboy together about whatever player was stepping up to bat at the moment, but now he’s not so sure. Random Boy has bursts of loudness comparable to his friends’ volume, although Zhangjing’s not sure anyone could scream louder than Chaoze. He’s just grateful Random Boy actually takes moments to breathe instead of yelling constantly like Dinghao.

“Oh my god!” Random Boy yells in Chinese, before turning to his right to jabber off to his friend in perfect English, and it’s almost kind of cute. Almost, because the faint pressure at the back of Zhangjing’s head that had persisted at the beginning of the game is developing into a pulsing headache, and it’s “only the third inning”, or whatever that means.

Zhangjing stuffs the rest of his hotdog into his mouth and winces as one of Chaoze’s elbows accidentally jabs into his side. He sighs, deeply, and thinks of hotpot.

 

~

 

They’re nearing the end of the fifth inning now, and Zhangjing’s headache still hasn’t let up. He’s taken to watching the boy next to him instead of the field, sneaking a peek at his face every now and then.

From what Zhangjing can gather, he’s probably around their age, maybe even a college student like them. He’s also, Zhangjing admits to himself grudgingly, pretty handsome.

Not handsome enough, though, for Zhangjing to forgive him for being so _loud_. Or for sending his arms flying up in excitement when one of the teams scores a home run and tipping his drink all over Zhangjing’s lap.

Zhangjing grimaces, letting his head roll back as the liquid seeps into his pants. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Random Boy says, voice butter smooth in comparison to his screams from before. Zhangjing’s eyes snap open when Random Boy dumps a bunch of napkins into his lap and starts dabbing at his thigh with one of them in an attempt to fix the mess.

“Please don’t,” Zhangjing says, strangled voice ripping out of his throat. “I mean, uh, it’s ok, you don’t have to. I’m fine, no harm done.”

“Are you sure?” Random Boy says, eyes filled with concern. Zhangjing tries not to squirm under his gaze, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult not to. Random Boy’s front-view might be even better-looking than his side profile, and his eyes draw Zhangjing in like a moth to a flame. Zhangjing’s breath catches in his throat.

Chaoze’s giggling snaps him out of his haze (the jerk, Zhangjing will have _words_ with him later). “Uh, yeah, I’m fine!” Zhangjing replies, the sudden volume causing a wave of pain to pulse through his head. “One hundred percent. Totally okay.”

“If you’re sure,” says Random Boy, not convinced. He looks so guilty about it that Zhangjing can’t really bring himself to hold a grudge against him. “I’m really sorry, if there’s anything I can do to make up for it--”

“Really, it’s okay,” Zhangjing cuts him off, smiling. “Don’t worry about it.”

He keeps the smile long enough to turn on Chaoze, smacking him on the shoulder. Chaoze yelps, more out of surprise than pain. “This is all your fault,” he hisses under his breath. “First you yell so loudly that I get a headache, then a cute boy spills soda on me and you laugh? You better buy me a lot of beef later to make up for it, Lin Chaoze.”

Chaoze’s grin only grows wider. He nudges Zhangjing, trying to suppress a laugh. “You might wanna look to your right. I think you might have said the second part a bit louder than you thought.”

Zhangjing’s head whips around. Random Boy is looking at him… contemplatively? And his cheeks are tinged light pink. Zhangjing feels his own face heat up.

“This is all your fault,” he repeats, smacking Chaoze on the shoulder again.

“Ow! What did I do?”

The game’s moved on without them, about to start the sixth inning. Another thing that Zhangjing can’t figure out is the kiss cam. In the brief interlude between innings as the players switch out, a camera scans up and down the audience, randomly zooming in on a pair of people and lighting up the big screen with the words “Kiss Cam” in flowering letters. Sometimes, the camera lands on a couple who will happily kiss each other, or two friends who will oblige the audience, but mostly it lands on strangers who will sit there awkwardly until the camera moves on to find another set of victims.

Zhangjing watches as the camera lands on a pair of friends who exchange platonic kisses on the cheeks. The stadium fills with polite applause, but he can tell it’s not what they’re really looking for. The camera, however, is sated, and zooms back onto the field as the players rush out, ready to begin the new inning.

Zhangjing sneaks a look at Random Boy, who (thankfully) is no longer cheering, instead whispering to the girl sitting next to him. The tips of his ears peek through his hair (which, Zhangjing decides, is really fluffy and he wants to run a hand through it), and they’re sporting a bright red as Random Boy’s whispers grow in urgency. Zhangjing bites down on his lip.

“What’s going on?” Zhangjing asks, leaning over to Chaoze. He needs a distraction.

Chaoze’s eyes don’t leave the field as he points down to one of the players. “Well, that guy just struck out, and there are two on the bases right now, so that guy’s gonna need a really good hit to try and catch up to the other team before they have to switch.”

Zhangjing hums in faked understanding.

“However, the other team’s pitcher has a really nasty curveball, and the guy who’s at bat right now hasn’t been doing great this game so he might strike out too, in which case the home team is totally screwed and--” Chaoze suddenly whips his head around to fix his gaze on Zhangjing. He narrows his eyes. “Wait. You don’t even care about this stuff.”

“What are you talking about,” Zhangjing protests. “I care. I love basketball.”

“This isn’t even basketball!” Chaoze shrieks. Zhangjing jumps in his seat, slapping a hand over Chaoze’s mouth, but it’s too late. Random Boy is looking at him again, this time with a dumb smirk that makes Zhangjing’s face heat up even more.

“Baseball, baseball, geez, I meant baseball.” Zhangjing is mortified.

“I can’t believe you mixed them up -- ah, I see what you’re doing.” Chaoze’s indignant look has turned knowing. He prods Zhangjing with his shoulder, stupid grin stretched across his face.

Zhangjing stares dumbly. “What am I doing.”

“Don’t worry about the baseball, we’ll take care of that,” Chaoze says, winking. “You just take care of your boy over there.”

Zhangjing raises his hand as if to smack Chaoze again. “You shut up, Lin Chaoze,” he says threateningly. “Why am I even friends with you again?”

Chaoze dissolves into laughter, completely distracted from the game. Zhangjing can feel Random Boy’s eyes on him, and his neck grows hot. He wants to go home already.

The game progresses, and they’ve slid through the eighth inning without a hitch. By now, his pants have dried, even if they’re stiff and sticky from the soda. Zhangjing silently thanks whatever god told him to forego the white jeans for the black ones; at least it won’t stain when he washes them.

Zhangjing pulls out his phone, checking the time as the kiss cam music plays in the background. He nearly drops it when Chaoze screams in his ear, slapping his arm excitedly. “Look up at the screen!”

Zhangjing nearly chokes when he sees himself on the kiss cam screen. His bewildered face is rendered in HD for the entire audience to see. He breathes a sigh of relief when he realizes he’s only on the border of the screen, though, unfortunately caught in the camera’s wide angle. The main focus is on…

Zhangjing slides his gaze over to Random Boy and the girl next to him, whose faces are lit up by the hearts floating around them. The girl has a resigned smile, like she just wants to get it over with. Zhangjing feels a twinge of something in his chest when she leans in to peck Random Boy on the cheek.

The crowd gasps collectively when Random Boy holds up a hand to stop her. He smiles apologetically, then turns in his seat to face Zhangjing.

Zhangjing’s heartbeat pounds in his ears, rapid and deafening. In the back of his mind, he can register Chaoze and Dinghao screeching like howler monkeys, but it all turns to white noise when Random Boy asks, “Can I?”

Blankly, Zhangjing nods.

And then Random Boy is kissing him, and Zhangjing is kissing back, and it’s just a soft mouth-to-mouth touch without anything behind it but when he pulls away and sees Random Boy smiling softly, it feels like the sun has left the sky to take the form of a 20-something year old boy with the nicest hair and the cutest dimples he’s ever seen.

“Oh my god,” Zhangjing says, mind wiped of anything and everything except the feeling of Random Boy’s lips against his.

“Get it, Zhangjing!” Chaoze yells, and Zhangjing snaps back into reality, the cheering of the crowd drowning out the sound of his pulse. His eyes snap to the big screen, where they’re showing “Kiss Cam Replay” and -- is that him? Zhangjing’s shocked face, eyes bugged out like a cartoon character, is blown up for everyone to see. He touches his finger to his lips, grimacing as it comes away oily. Oh god, he must have tasted like bad hot dogs and greasy popcorn.

“See!” Dinghao screams, standing up and leaning over Honglin and Chaoze to get to Zhangjing. “Aren’t you glad you came? Didn’t I tell you it would be fun?”

“I regret every decision I made that led to me becoming friends with you guys,” Zhangjing hollers back, but judging from Dinghao’s persistent grin, he’s not convincing anyone.

The last inning goes by in a blur, Zhangjing still stuck in a daze. He keeps stealing glances at Random Boy, and Random Boy keeps stealing glances at him, and a few times they happen to meet eyes and Zhangjing has to tear his gaze away before he starts smiling like an idiot and Chaoze has to tell him to “control yourself, Zhangjing, you’re acting like a high schooler with a crush,” to which Zhangjing retorts that he’s a college student and he doesn’t have a crush. Yet, that is.

The game ends, and they leave the stadium in a giant mob of people. Zhangjing somehow manages to get separated from his friends; how he doesn’t know, considering they’re stilling yelling at the top of their lungs like the idiot trio they are. The mass of people spits Zhangjing outside onto the sidewalk, dispersing into groups of people getting ready to leave. He stands on his tiptoes, looking for Dinghao’s leopard-print sunglasses, when someone taps him on the shoulder.

Zhangjing spins around, looking up into Random Boy’s face. He couldn’t tell when they were sitting, but now Random Boy towers over him by a good few inches. “Hey,” he says, almost breathlessly.

Random Boy grins. “If you were a baseball and I were a bat, would you let me hit that?” he says, eyes glinting with amusement.

Zhangjing groans. Is this seriously the person he spent the last hour daydreaming about?

Random Boy throws his head back and lets out a full-bellied laugh, the sound drifting through Zhangjing’s ears like his favorite melody. Once he’s calmed down, he says, “I’m Evan Lin. Or Lin Yanjun. Whichever one you prefer.”

It’s not a very conventional introduction, but then again, nothing about how they met was conventional. “I’m You Zhangjing,” he says. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Evan Lin Yanjun."

“You Zhangjing, huh,” Evan Lin Yanjun (Zhangjing hasn’t made up his mind yet) says in almost native-sounding Chinese. “That’s a cool name.”

“So I’ve heard,” says Zhangjing.

“Well, Mr. You Zhangjing, it was nice to meet you too,” says Evan Lin Yanjun, taking a folded piece of paper and handing it to Zhangjing, “I’ll see you around.”

As he walks off coolly towards his group of friends, Zhangjing’s own gaggle of howler monkeys catches up to him. “Did I just see you talking to Cute Boy?!” Chaoze asks, voice rising by the minute.

Zhangjing isn’t paying attention. He unfolds the paper, “Call me ;), xxx-xxxx” written on the inside in small handwriting.

As the others discuss which of the three hotpot restaurants in the vicinity they want to go to and the recent developments of Zhangjing’s love life, Zhangjing punches the number into his phone under the contact “Evan 林彦俊” and fires off a quick text.

_“u owe me milk tea”_

He gets an immediate response.

_“of course. i’ll show you we’re a_ matcha _made in heaven”_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> im on twitter @xiaojidiing i have no idea how to use it or how stan twt even works pls help


End file.
